The Northern Plains
by KitLee
Summary: No one really knows the whole truth about Lark's background until it comes back to kidnap her. (Takes place between Circle of Magic and The Circle Opens.)
1. Prince Anorran

The Northern Plains  
by KitLee  
  
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters aren't mine. They are property and brain-children of Tamora Pierce. I do own the Northern Plains, Anorran, etc. Please don't use them without my permission.  
  
Author's Note: I've noticed a real shortage of Lark fics, so this is my contribution to that. Seriously, we know that she was a tumbler, but I think that there's more to her than that. Where was she born? Where did she grow up? Why did she leave to become a tumbler? This is my answer to these questions. Please Read/Review!  
  
Chapter 1 -- Prince Anorran  
  
Prince Anorran XIII of the Northern Plains paced anxiously in the anteroom of his father's chambers. For the past two years, the king had been ill; tonight he had taken a turn for the worst. The only other person in the room was his mother, Queen Aediel. Palace guards stood watch outside, and inside the finest healers in Kuval were tending to the king.  
  
"Sit down, son," Aediel said firmly. "You are not doing your father any good by fidgiting."  
  
"I can't help it," Anorran protested, although he did take a seat. "I think this may be the end."  
  
"Thank the gods," Aediel murmered.   
  
Anorran shot her a questioning look.   
  
"Sometimes death can be a release for someone so ill for so long," Aediel said cooly.  
  
"Perhaps," Anorran conceded. "But I do wish that Father would simply get better."  
  
"Think optimistically, son. Your father has had a long and productive reign. Even if he dies tonight, he will have done good. Soon it will be your turn to rule."  
  
Anorran shuddered inwardly. Aloud, he said, "That is true, Mother."  
  
Aediel raised one eyebrow. "Of course it is true. I am your mother."  
  
Anorran stared out the window. He never had any idea of how to respond when his mother said that.   
  
Outside in Kuval the people were going about their business as usual. No official word had been sent that the king was dying. Farther away, across Lake Arrona, Anorran could see the lights from the larger city, Kuman. Not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to be a commoner in Kuman, instead of the High Prince.  
  
"My Prince?" the healer asked. Anorran's head shot up to see the chief healer standing before him.  
  
"Yes Giald?" Anorran asked, rising to his feet. "Is father --"  
  
"No my Prince, not yet. He is asking for you, though. I -- I don't think it will be much longer."  
  
Anorran stood and hurried through his father's door, forgetting all of the proper protocols. Once inside, Anorran was surprised by the lack of light. Only a dim candle shed its flickering light. Anorran instantly recognized it as his father's Life Flame. Beside the flame, on the bedside table, there was only a glass of water, a piece of parchment, and a ring.  
  
King Anorran XII lay weakly on the bed, his usually pale skin even paler. "Son!" he cried out weakly, struggling to sit up.  
  
In an instant, Anorran was by his father's side. "Rest Father. I will help you." Gently, Anorran helped his father sit upright, propped against several pillows.  
  
"Son --" King Anorran began, but he was interrupted by a fit of coughing and weezing. Anorran lifted a glass of water to his father's lips. Once he'd stopped coughing, he began again. "Son, I am afraid that I am dying. I feel the very force of death in this room." He gestured towards the flame. "Soon my flame, spelled since birth to represent my life, will flicker for the last time and die." Another coughing fit seized the king.  
  
"Father, don't speak. It's only making you worse," Anorran insisted.  
  
"Bah!" the King exclaimed hoarsely. "I need to tell you these things." He lifted his ring of office from the table. "This is yours now. The seal will get you anywhere within the realm." He handed Anorran a piece of parchment. "This is a map to the kingdom. It is enchanted. It will show you every place you need." The King sat up and grasped his son's hands in his own. "It is imperative that you know this: I am leaving you a divided kingdom. I am sorry that I must do so, but it cannot be avoided. There have been threats --"  
  
"Yes Father, I know," Anorran said. "I will take care of them. Don't worry."  
  
The King smiled. "I don't worry with you in charge of the realm. I know that you will do the right thing." He moved to the last object on the table: the candle. In one quick motion, he blew it out. Then he lay back down against the pillows and closed his eyes. His breathing grew even more ragged and weak.  
  
"Father!" Anorran exclaimed. "Don't go!"  
  
"I must Son. It is my time."  
  
"But -"  
  
"Be careful --" the King breathed.   
  
Anorran closed his mouth and leaned forward to catch the words.  
  
"-- of what you seek," he finished. His head collapsed against the pillow; and his hand, which Anorran had grasped, fell limp.   
  
Anorran sat by his father's side for several minutes, trying to absorb his father's death. Finally, he slid on the ring, stuck the parchment in the pocket in his cloak, and stood up. He walked mechanically out to the anteroom. During his time in there, a multitude of nobles had joined his mother and the healers there.  
  
"The king is dead," he said softly. Ignoring the cries of "Long live Anorran XIII!" and brushing off his mothers touch, he quickly fled the room. Following the parchment, Anorran wound his way through the palace in the side passages. Taking a sharp right turn, tricky to see for those who weren't looking for it, Anorran opened the hidden door there by pressing his signet ring against the stones. Obediantly, the door swung open to reveal his destination.  
  
By this time dawn was breaking and light poured into the room. It was made completely of glass and stood suspended in a hollow in the middle of the palace. Small pores and mirrors angled the light in, and only the door through which he had entered connected it with the palace. The room was completely empty, save a podium with a sphere resting on it. Anorran walked over to it and gaped at it.  
  
The sphere was perfectly smooth. The outside was a layer of flawless diamond, and the inside had a core of liquid red -- not blood, but something else, something more shiny. Anorran took a deep breath the steady his quaking nerves, then thrust out his hands to place them on the sphere before he could reconsider.  
  
Instantly, the magic of the sphere rushed into Anorran's body. He gasped in surprise and shock. Images flew through his brain; faces of people he had and hadn't seen filled his mind. His pale skin grew uncharacteristically flushed, and his limbs convulsed until the sphere sent him hurtling through the chamber to crash against the far wall.  
  
Anorran gasped and struggled to regain control of his body. Thankfully, he hadn't hit his head when he'd landed. Woozily, he stood up, swaying a bit like a drunken man. His mind felt like that of a drunk -- fuzzy and confused. Anorran tried to take a few steps, but his legs slipped out from under him and deposited him unceremoniously onto the floor again. He blinked in the pink and golden light of dawn, until suddenly his mind felt remarkably clear -- even more so than before. It was as if the light had burned away his confusion as the sun burns away morning fog. In his mind now was only one face, a familiar face. And Anorran knew that this face -- Alexias' face -- was that of his destiny.  
  
Meanwhile -- miles away in the country of Emelan, near the city of Summersea, in Winding Circle Temple -- the woman formerly known as Alexias was going about her morning routine. 


	2. Alexias, Princess of Kuman

Chapter 2 -- Alexias, Princess of Kuman  
  
Dedicate Lark was wandering around the city of Summersea. She and Rosethorn had gone into town to sell their wares, and she'd left Rosethorn and their charges at the booth so that she could do a little exploring.  
  
Lark loved the city. Before becoming a dedicate, ever since she was eleven, she had worked as a tumbler, traveling from city to city. She'd loved her life as a tumbler, constantly seeing new places and meeting new people. Even now that she was a famous mage, sometimes Lark found herself longing for that carefree life.  
  
As she browsed through the market, a sudden fog filled the area. Startled, Lark glanced up just in time to feel strong arms surround her and pull her out of the crowded square. Right before they forced her into a drugged sleep, she noticed their clothes. They wore soldiers' uniforms -- dark gray pants and long-sleeved shirt with a large washer surrounded by a black circle on either arm. The uniform of the Northern Plains.  
  
When she woke up, darkness had fallen. Lark found herself lying in a covered caravan. The only light came from a small lamp on a low desk where a man was bent over, writing. In the dim light, she could barely see him, but considering who had kidnapped her, she had a strong suspicion who the man was.  
  
"Hello Norro," she said, using her nickname for him.  
  
Startled, Anorran jerked up, his pen and paper flying off in opposite directions. "Alexias! You're awake."  
  
"Lark," Lark corrected him.  
  
"Huh?" Anorran asked, as he bent down to collect his things.  
  
"My name is Lark now, not Alexias. Dedicate Initiate Lark," she added for emphasis.  
  
"Yes, yes, I know. You've managed to make quite a name for yourself, Alexias. I'm quite impressed," Anorran said.  
  
"Do I detect sarcasm in your voice, Norro?" Lark asked.  
  
"No," he said, after thinking for a moment. "I really am proud of all that you've accomplished since you left me."  
  
She didn't miss the pain in his voice. "Norro --" she began, but he interrupted her.  
  
"It's Anorran now, King Anorran."  
  
She crawled over to him and sat opposite him at the table. "I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "How long ago did it happen?"  
  
"Not long ago. I've actually spent the time since his passing trying to track you down." He gave her a shy smile. "I'm still not used to being king," he admitted. "But you should address me as such."  
  
"Nonsense," Lark said. "You need someone who won't treat you as if you were sacred." She leaned over and patted his tidy black hair. "No matter what you say you are, you'll always just be Norro to me."  
  
He ducked from under her hand. "And you'll be Alexias to me, but you've already resisted my calling you that."  
  
"It's too hard," she admitted. "I had to give up the name when I left here. I didn't want any rememberance of what I'd given up."  
  
"And what's that?" Anorran asked.  
  
"Everything!" Lark exclaimed. "You've never lived a day as a regular person, let alone a poor one. It was hard Norro; it really was. I had to work harder than I ever had in my life just to earn enough money to stay alive. I would pray every day that I would never get sick and that I could make enough money, and I had to pinch all the money that I did have. I was cold, hungry, exhausted, and filled with worries. Worse of all was when I actually did get sick. I thought my life was over then! All I could think about was running back to Kuval and begging to be a royal princess again." Lark took a deep breath. "But more than the money and the power, the thing I regreted loosing most was you."  
  
"Really?" Anorran said with cool skeptism.  
  
"Yes really! I care about you very much!"  
  
"Then why did you leave?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly from hysterical emotion.  
  
"Oh Norro," Lark said gently as she brushed her hand against his face. "Don't think that it was because of you."  
  
He jumped up suddenly, overturning the table between them. "How can I not?" he asked wildly. "What did you think I'd assume?"  
  
"Norro, it was just -- things. Not you."  
  
"What things?" he challenged.  
  
"I didn't want to stay in Kuval and be some figurehead," she said, standing so that she could look him straight in the eye. As children she had been several inches taller, but now he was the one with the height advantage.  
  
"I wanted -- I needed to go out and see the world," she said calmly. "If I had stayed, I would have become nothing more than the wife of the king and the mother of Anorran XIV. I needed more. And I got it." She gestured at herself. "I've worked as a tumbler. I've traveled from Emelan to Yanjing in the east. I've become a temple dedicate and a mage. A real mage!"  
  
Lark paused a moment and then continued. "That doesn't mean that I've forgotten my past in the Northern Plains or you. It's still my home, and you're still my love."  
  
He smiled slightly. "You still call it the Northern Plains."  
  
Lark shrugged. "I know it's a silly habit, but I can't break myself of it. Everyone else in the world calls it the Anorran Empire or just Anorra."   
  
He smiled sadly. "I've missed you so, Alexias. You don't know how mind-numbingly dull the past years have been."  
  
"I can guess," Lark said. She paused a moment and then asked, "So, tell me Norro, when are you going to ask me to marry you?"  
  
Anorran stared at her in shock. He'd forgotten her old ability to read him as clearly as a book. "How did you --" he began.  
  
"Why else would you have kidnapped you former betrothed?" she asked rhetorically. "Certainly not to take to meet you current wife." Anorran looked seriously at her. "You don't have a wife, do you?" she asked.  
  
Anorran laughed. "No, of course not. You were right the first time." Lark hit him gently, and he easily caught her second blow in his hand. "So, what about you? Do you have a husband? Or anyone special?"  
  
"Only Jem, my son," she said. "But he's a student at Lightsbridge far away from Winding Circle and me. He's nearly grown, anyway." She sighed and sat back down. "Soon he'll be a real mage and travel, rootless and independent."  
  
Anorran sat down next to her. "I see. What about his father?"  
  
Niko's face instantly popped into Lark's mind. "His father and I are just friends," she said. "It was just a mistake that brought us together."  
  
"Meaning, he doesn't love you as much as you love him," Anorran translated.  
  
"It's not just that," Lark said defensively, and Anorran laughed. When his laughed subsided, she explained, "Niko is a mage. He does have, want, or need anyone to tie him down. I used to -- used to, Norro! -- have feelings for him, but those have subsided."  
  
"Niko, do you mean Master Niklaren Goldeye?" Lark nodded. "Well, Alexias, I am impressed. But then I suppose you famous mages have to have each other's children. Can't dillute all that magic with a normal person, afterall."  
  
"You've heard of him?" Lark asked. "I didn't know news traveled that far."  
  
"Of course we've heard of him. We've heard of you, too."  
  
Lark was shocked. "Me?"   
  
"Of course! Did you know how famous you've become? We didn't realize it was you, though. Everyone just called you Dedicate Lark, not even hinting that you were from the Northern Plains."  
  
"Well, for the non-inhabitants, the Northern Plains is one large enigma. Few people go in or out of there. Obviously I couldn't draw attention to myself."  
  
"Obviously," Anorran said. There was silence between them for several minutes which he broke. "So, will you marry me?" he asked awkwardly.  
  
"I don't see that I have much of a choice," she teased. "You have kidnapped me."  
  
"I won't hold you here against your will!" Anorran said defensively.  
  
"Then why did you kidnap me?"  
  
"I just -- I wasn't sure that you'd even talk to me. I just wanted to see you again," he protested. He paused and said seriously, "So -- seriously now -- will you marry me, Alexias? I could never love anyone as much as I love you."  
  
Lark bit her lip nervously. "Aren't I too old for you to marry? I'm supposed to give you lots of little heirs, you know."  
  
"We'll have children," Anorran said calmly and surely. "Forget about all that. Just answer me, please."  
  
"I don't know. I really don't know," she whispered. "I love you Anorran; I really do. But I don't know if that's enough. You're the king of the Northern Plains! A woman doesn't just marry you; she marries the title as well. And I don't know if I want that title, and. . . ."  
  
He pulled her towards him, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. "It's okay," he said. "Just think about it, okay?" She nodded. He yawned deeply. "Good, because I'm exhausted. I haven't gotten much sleep lately. So -- if the princess doesn't mind . . ."  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Excellent," he said, and with that he lay down and fell asleep instantly. Surprisingly tired herself, Lark lay down and leaned against him. Soon they both had fallen fast asleep. 


	3. Who Dunnit?

Chapter 3 -- Who Dunnit?  
  
Lady Sandrilene fa Toren paced restlessly inside Discipline cottage. It had been nearly two weeks after the disappearance of her beloved teacher, Dedicate Lark, and they still had no idea who had taken her and where. Outside, the clock chimmed midnight.  
  
Daja Kisubo, another student at Discipline, crept downstairs. "Sandry?" she whispered sleepily. Only moonlight illuminated the cottage, but Daja had heard her friend's impatient movements from her room upstairs.  
  
"Daja! You startled me!" Sandry whispered.  
  
"What are you doing up? It's late."  
  
"I can't sleep. Could you?"  
  
"You haven't slept well in weeks," Daja said. "You should go to bed and at least try to sleep."  
  
"I can't do that. Whenever I even close my eyes, all I can think about is Lark. I have the most horrible feeling that something awful is happening to her." Sandry's voice choked up. "I couldn't stand it if she --"  
  
"Shhh," Daja said. "It's all right, Sandry. Everything will be fine. Niko will be here by tomorrow, and you know that he'll figure out who kidnapped Lark."  
  
Sandry nodded slightly. It had been terrible luck that Niko had been so far away -- not even doing anything important -- when this all had happened.  
  
Just then there was a knock at the door. Excited that it might be Niko, Sandry hurried over and swung it open.  
  
"Niko!" she cried happily, not bothering to keep her voice down. She threw her arms around him. "I'm so glad you're here." Sandry buried her face in his shirt and began to cry.  
  
Tris, hearing her teacher's arrival, came down the stairs. Briar too poked his head out of his room and then came out to greet Niko. Lastly, yawning, Rosethorn emerged from her room.  
  
"Hello Niko," she said, blinking sleepily. "You're here."  
  
"Hello Rosethorn," he said.  
  
Sandry, still by his side, pulled on his sleeve to get his attention. "Can we go to Summersea now?" she asked eagerly. "Or do you already know where she is?"  
  
Niko yawned. "I would love to get started immediately, Sandry, but I'm exhausted. I have been traveling since before dawn yesterday."  
  
"But Niko," Sandry begged.  
  
"It can wait until morning," Rosethorn said firmly. "Now lets all get to sleep. In case you haven't noticed, it's the middle of the night."  
  
Tris, Daja, and Briar headed towards their rooms, but Sandry stayed put.  
  
"Go to bed," Niko said. "It's probably best that we wait until morning anyway. Then we won't have to work in the dark."  
  
Sandry shook her head. "I can't sleep at all," she admitted.  
  
Overhearing her, Rosethorn walked into her workroom and then emerged with a bottle of thick syrup. She poured a little of it into a cup and handed it to Sandry. "Drink," she directed. "It'll help you sleep."  
  
Sandry accepted it and stared at the small pool of thick red liquid, wondering if it would be enough to banish the worries that kept her awake.  
  
Rosethorn said, "It's very strong."   
  
Sandry gulped the drink quickly. She tried to walk back to her room, but only made it about two steps before the sleeping potion took hold of her and put her straight to sleep. The last thing she remembered before falling completely unconscious what Niko laughing and saying, "I think that was a little too strong."  
  
When Sandry awoke, sunlight was pouring into her bedroom. Birds chirped outside her window in the fresh spring air. For the first time in weeks, Sandry felt fully alert and refreshed. She quickly threw on her clothes and hurried to the kitchen. She found the rest of the house already there finishing breakfast.  
  
"Good morning," Niko said. "Did you sleep well?"  
  
"Yes," Sandry said. "Thank you Rosethorn. A good night's sleep was exactly what I needed."  
  
"You're welcome," Rosethorn said.  
  
"So what's the plan for today?" Daja asked. "Are we all going into Summersea?"  
  
"Actually," Niko said. "I thought that it would be best if only Tris and I went this morning. I'm going to need her for a past-viewing spell. From what Moonstream has written me, there are almost no clues there, so I'll have to concentrate." He rose from the table. "If you're done, Tris, we can get going now." She nodded, and the two of them hurried off to Summersea.  
  
They rode in a cart to the marketplace full of various tools that Niko thought might help unravel the mystery. Duke Vedris has closed off the portion of the marketplace that Lark had been in until the investigation could be concluded. The first thing that Niko did once they had arrived was closely examine the area for any dropped coins, threads, papers, or any other clues. Then, he, with Tris' help, began the past-viewing spell.  
  
By afternoon, he and Tris had been working for hours with little luck. Whoever the kidnappers were, they had been very careful not to leave any hints as to their identity. All Niko knew was that they were both wearing simple, dark clothes with only one unusual mark. On either arm they bore a circle surrounding a black dot with a white circle in the center of it, like a washer. The only other thing that he noticed was a faint silver glow of magic that distinctly formed a trail out of town.  
  
"But until we know where it leads, I don't think we should follow it," Niko finished summerizing the day's work to the charges and Rosethorn in Discipline.   
  
Daja looked quite thoughtful. "What did the insignia look like, again? Could you draw it?" she asked.  
  
Tris grabbed a slate and carefully copied the mark and handed it to her.  
  
"It looks so familiar," Daja mused. "I'm almost positive that I've seen it before -- stamped on something."  
  
Briar peered over her shoulder. "It looks like an eye," he declared.  
  
"What a weird symbol," Sandry said, peering over Daja's other shoulder. "I wonder what it means."  
  
"Cat dirt," Daja said, borrowing Sandry's expression. "All I can remember is that it was stamped on a bottle of Aterrias fire."  
  
Niko and Rosethorn exchanged a look.  
  
"What?" Sandry asked.  
  
"Well," Niko began slowly. "If Daja is correct, and I think that she is, there is only one place in the world that makes that kind of liquor."  
  
"But that's good, isn't it?" Briar asked. "Then you know where Lark is."  
  
"Yes," Rosethorn said slowly, "But I wish she weren't there. The Anorran Empire is quite an enigma."  
  
"The Anorran Empire?" Briar asked. "I've never heard of it. Where's that?"  
  
"It's very isolated, far to the north and east of here, especially north. Its people have very little interaction with the world outside its own borders, so no one really knows anything about them," Rosethorn said.  
  
"It's also called Anorra," Niko said. "And they call themselves the Northern Plains. The mages there have knowledge that the mages of Lightsbridge and Winding Circle would die to get."  
  
"I wonder what they'd want with Lark," Briar commented.  
  
"Who knows?" Niko asked rhetorically.  
  
"Does it matter?" Sandry asked. "We know where she is now, so we can rescue Lark. Right?" Sandry asked.  
  
"Of course," Rosethorn said. "We'll just need to take probably a day to prepare for such a long journey. Don't worry," she said briskley. "We won't give up yet."  
  
But Niko said nothing. 


End file.
